the first, the second, the third, but what about the fourth?
by kagako
Summary: he can't help but want to kiss her and she can't help but hide afterwards—for three days. ; spoilers if you haven't watched the last two episodes!


The first time he kisses her, he does it on the rooftop.

Yet, Akihito isn't too sure as to why he chose the rooftop. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the sun would color her hair, lighting it up and making her look even more stunning than she already was; or perhaps it was the way the sun would seem to revolve around her, bringing his attention only to Mirai, up to the point where he wasn't sure if he could breathe if he didn't take a glance at her.

Or, maybe it was the fact that they met there, the fact that the rooftop was where he first saw the red frames of her glasses and the way her hair would cup her face, how Mirai herself would seem to light up thanks to the sun, and _yesyesyes _he yearned to cup her face just like that: in his hands so he could brush his fingertips against her jaw line and run them over the sides of her glasses, never before had he seen such a beautiful girl in glasses and—_nonono, what is this bespectacled beauty doing with that sword?_

Looking back on it now, Akihito is sure that's when it all started. Or, at least that's what was running through his mind when he leaned in, taking Mirai by surprise when his lips had touched hers. A small, yet sweet sound came to their ears as their lips moved and awkwardly smacked against each other's—but it was okay for Akihito because he's honestly never felt so alive; and Mirai was humming in what seems like approval at the back of her throat, so he figures she's okay, too, just as okay and right as him. His hands were shaking yet that didn't stop him as he set them on her forearms only to be surprised himself when she jumped back, face flushed and he could hear her heartbeat, no denying that, but she's spluttering _"how unpleasant, how unpleasant, senpai, you unpleasant little—!" _as she waved her hands defensively in front of her before she stumbled back and made a run for it.

Blond eyebrows had rose slightly as Akihito watched her go, lips parted slightly as he murmurs something along the lines of _"that didn't really go how I wanted."_

xxx

The first time he kisses her, he doesn't expect to not see her for three days.

Akihito goes to the literary club room first thing every morning. He's expecting to see her, taking care of the bonsai, shuffling her feet as she cleans her glasses frantically, most likely hoping no one else would notice the new smaller bonsai she settled in front of the window. Thing is, they all do—it's just that the three of them have given up trying to tell her the bonsai could go elsewhere, so they act as though they don't notice it, eyeing her in that "are-you-okay-Kuriyama-san" way that settles her jitteriness long enough until the next day, where it restarts itself again.

However, every day since the kiss, he hasn't seen her. Not in the halls, not in the literary club room, definitely not on the rooftop where it happened—nowhere around the school, the streets on the way back home, anywhere. Akihito continues to mull things over in his mind: perhaps she's sick, has the flu or a cold; maybe she ate something bad or maybe, most likely, she's just avoiding him—and the thought itself makes him hunch his shoulders, twist his lips. Though, the blond knows he isn't going to back down in the least.

So Akihito goes to her place, knocks and knocks profusely on the door until he figures she isn't there; it's a strange thought, though he supposes it's not uncommon. The young blond takes a moment to lick at his lips, eyes narrowing on the door until he raises his fist again, pounding on the door as he shouts, "Kuriyama-san? _Kuriyama-san,_ come on, come out, where _are you_?"

Moments pass and he lets his arm drop—he's exasperated and tired and, he won't admit it aloud, but he misses the bespectacled girl, too used to seeing her every day for the past few months. Akihito purses his lips and rolls his shoulders, giving out a sigh before he turns on his heel and makes his way back to his own place, all the while spitting curses at the ground as he walks.

xxx

The second time he kisses her, he does it when he's dreaming.

Akihito thinks it's a bit overkill, those dreams where he's got his hands on her forearms, where he can feel the flush of her skin against his cheeks as his lips move tentatively against hers—overkill, he thinks again and again, overkill. He'll roll out of bed, brows drawn together as he walks to the door of his bedroom and out into the hall. The blond will get ready as usual, eat breakfast and throw on his clothes as he checks if he has the right things for school before opening the door.

He'll glance around a moment or so, twist his lips in a matter of thinking as he locks the door, shuts it. The boy knows he's waiting for her, seeing if Mirai will miraculously show up with a smile, the same sweet, small laugh in her voice as she says _"come on, Senpai, you're taking so long it's unpleasant," _even though he has a scowl and the corners of her mouth are twitching. Once the thought comes, the image flashes in his mind as well—and it makes the blond sniff his nose loudly, draw his eyebrows together as he makes his feet walk in the general direction of Mirai's place.

It doesn't take him long to get there—by now he knows the roads and curves and hills as well as the back of his hand, could do it with his eyes closed. Akihito purses his lips as his eyes settle on the door, knows he shouldn't bother trying yet it doesn't stop his arm from lifting, his hand taking form into a fist. He knocks once, twice, three times—five, seven, eleven times before the blond lets his arm fall back to his side, defeat in his bones although he knows full well it doesn't belong there. He stays in front of the door for a moment, blank eyes taking in nothing as they stare, transfixed, at the doorknob. Akihito reaches his fingers, curls them around the knob and twists—heart almost jumping out of his chest as the door opens for him.

Light brown eyes widen at the discovery, equally light brows are drawn upward in confusion and slight excitement. _Surely if the door is unlocked, she'll be here, avoiding me, calling me unpleasant and complaining about me on her blog and—!_ Akihito's stumbling inside, frantically looking in each room until finally he has no choice but to look in her room and he's thinking _pleasedon'tbeempty, pleasedon'tbeempty_. The blond knows he shouldn't chant such things in his head over and over like a prayer, yet he can't help it, can't fight it: he's getting desperate and _damn it, Kuriyama-san, do you know how desperate I am getting?_

The thought is so unlike him that he stumbles to a stop, eyes blown wide as they take in her empty room, the desperation in his chest roaring like a lion that hasn't been fed. Akihito blows a harsh breath through his nose, scowling at Mirai's empty, messy bed before turning on his heel—he doesn't bother locking the door as he shuts it.

xxx

Akihito knows Mirai has been avoiding him—and the more he thinks about it, he'd have probably done the same if the roles were switched. So the blond tries to think little of it, go about his day in an orderly fashion, try not to stare too long at the place in the club room she usually occupies. He walks the usual route to her house, occasionally glances as he passed it by to see if any lights are on in the tiny windows. So when the blond sees a light flicker off just as he glances its way, he's as sure as he's ever been: _she's inside, she's there—_

He rushes into the house, pulling open doors and not caring in the least if he's stepping on something, stepping on anything—he's only there to see her, demand why she's lessening her presence. The blond sees her back just as she's hopping the fence, hears the light "oomph" she makes as she hits the ground. He drops his bag on the floor, light eyes narrowing as he sets off after her, shouts of "Kuriyama-san! _Kuriyama-san_, quit running, get _back_ here!" Akihito's huffing and panting yet his feet are still moving, legs still working to get him close to her, grip her shoulder and see her expression and—

The blond does as such, finally gaining speed and reaching out, fingertips crazing over her shoulder so the joints can bend at a perfect angle, fingers gripping her shoulder strong enough. Akihito tugs back lightly, and he can't help but wonder if she was really this tiny, really this light. He's got her turned to him completely, yet the only thing he can see is the top of her head—the blond scrunches his nose, bites his lip. "K…Kuriyama-san," he starts, and honestly he hadn't expected this to be so awkward, the knot in his stomach forming even bigger than before. "W—"

"You're being unpleasant!" she interrupts, a full on shout as she jerks back from his grasp, leaving his fingers empty long enough that she's able to slip from his close proximity before he notices. Mirai is fifteen feet away before he realizes—the sudden loss of the girl makes him jump, a small gasp of breath inhaled perhaps a bit too sharply for his lungs likings. Nonetheless, Akihito directs his attention around him, taking five steps forward when he spots her just twenty-five feet ahead—he can feel the desperation in his bones and all he wants to know is why, _why, why—_

He's taking steps forward, twisting his lips as he keeps his eyes on her feet as they walk ahead; his voice catches in his throat as he calls her out again—"M-Mirai."

xxx

The sound of her name coming from _that_ voice makes her stop in her tracks, heart thumping quickly, far too quickly for her liking. She can hear the sounds of his footfalls, know that he's coming up behind her—yet, truly she can't face him yet in fear her face will betray what she's thinking, what she's feeling. Mirai can feel her heart beat quicker and quicker, can feel Akihito's heat seep through the fabric of her clothes as he stands behind her. She squirms a bit, eyes wide as they dart left, right, up, down—anywhere. The girl's unsure what to do, how to process all of this: what is he here for, why couldn't he just leave her alone, get out quick before she—

"Mi..rai," he says, hesitant and soft yet it still manages to make her twitch, make the warmth and tingling sensations run throughout her blood, her body. He must have noticed it, she thinks, because now his hand is steady on her shoulder once more, pulling slightly—coaxing her, asking her. She shakes her head, can't face him yet, the color in her cheeks far too prominent. "W-W-What is it, Senpai?" the girl murmurs, hopefully loud enough that he'll hear, she thinks, despite her stuttering and complete idiocy.

"Are you…" he pauses, here, perhaps debating on how to phrase the thing he's going to say next. The girl braces herself, lips pursed and body stiff as he takes a breath to continue. "… avoiding me?"

"Yes!"

"Uh—" the girls response cuts him off guard, brows narrowing as his eyes settle on the back of her head. Yes, Akihito knows full well why she's been avoiding him, but it doesn't stop him from thinking that Mirai is definitely taking it too far. The blond shifts his feet, licks his lips before he speaks. "Why?"

The question makes the girl twitch, makes her bow her head as though to hide her expression. Akihito steps to her side, the palm of his hand pivoting smoothly as he stances himself in front of her; he places his free hand on her other shoulder, his fingers curling securely on her shoulders. The blond repeats the words _"don't leave, don't run away, please explain to me and maybe just maybe—"_ in his head until it's like a prayer, knows it's like one—is completely convinced it's a prayer he'll be saying until he gets an answer.

Mirai shifts and he can see that her eyebrows are narrowed through her bangs, can tell she's getting fed up with this and him and quite possibly everything—though, he thinks, she should know by now he won't allow her to disappear again without first speaking to him. "Why?" he repeats, a little quieter this time. "Hey, co—"

"_Because you kissed me!" _she yells at him, hands balled into fists and—ah, yeah, now he gets it: she's not just fed up, she's angry and tired and most likely ready to stab him. Akihito adjusts himself so he's at arms link—still touching and gripping her yet not so close that she could easily stab him. He's narrowing his brows, tilting his head as he watches her expression, the anger in her eyes and the slight confusion he can see buried there.

"You're… angry because of that?" he says.

xxx

The third time he kisses her, he does it while she's screaming at him.

Akihito will admit—the question was, maybe, out of line: of course Mirai is angry because he kissed her. Yet the thing is, he still doesn't exactly know why. The boy has always known kissing was a form of love and affection—wasn't it the same for every other person on earth? He tilts his head to the opposite side, narrowing his eyes as though he's examining her—which, he supposes, in a way he is. Akihito's telling her it's okay, kissing is a normal thing to do when two people l—

Mirai cuts him off there, face red and yeah, he can hear how fast her heartbeat sped up. Akihito can't help but smirk when the girl in front of him lifts her head to meet his eyes, mouth open as it starts spilling reason as to why he kissed her—"I think you were sick, Senpai, or maybe on drugs, maybe the youmu part of you went out of control and decided to prey on an innocent bespectacled girl such as myself! Or maybe you were half asleep, Senpai, maybe you cannot tell the obvious difference between reality and dream because clearly in reality there is no chance at all that you would feel the sa-!"

It's his turn to cut her off, he figured. Akihito leans in, and he hears her squeak in surprise yet it doesn't really stop him—he can feel the heat radiating off her cheeks and can feel the way she's bracing herself, allowing herself to lean to meet his lips. His stomach knots when he feels her lips against his own, but it's what he's been waiting for since the last time and the feel and high he's getting from her scent, the way she's kissing back—it's more than he can imagine, more than he can possibly explain. Their mouths seem to open in unison, their tongues sending a spark between them both—down their throats and to their hearts, sending little tiny sparks of need and want and _oh god, I've been waiting this, wanting this, I have, I have _throughout their bloodstream.

The kiss is almost too much the both of them can take, all hands and tongue and awkward clashes of teeth and little bites of their lips. Akihito pants into her mouth as she returns the favor, brows drawn and sweet noises of want coming from the back of her throat as he leans away to kiss at her jaw line, his face buried into the crook of her neck as he traces a pulsing vein with his nose.

He's leaning away, and then in for another kiss and he breathes in, can smell her scent and something unfamiliar, something that seems real, far too real for his liking. He pays it no heed since Mirai is right in front of him, waiting for his lips to press to her own and he'll be more than happy to complete the wish and—Akihito opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is the dark ceiling of the hospital room he's in. Akihito looks around, narrowing his eyes from the bright light coming from the window. He scrunches his nose at the smell of antiseptic cream and something else he can't place the name of. The male rolls his shoulders, twists his lips in a matter of thinking just as he catches sight of red framed glasses. The twist of his lips isn't there anymore, instead replace by slack lips that open slightly as his eyes follow suit. Suddenly the taste of Kuriyama-san he tastes on his lips, on his tongue is clarified.

Akihito lets out a deep breath, limbs weak and limp and all too abruptly he wants to go back into the coma-like state he was in moments ago. He cringes as he looks back over to the red frames, brows narrowed as his lips twist in something of anger and regret and agony. _Right,_ he thinks. _Kuriyama…san isn't here anymore._

Yet the thought doesn't stop Akihito from tasting his lips every few seconds, seemingly frightening that all too soon the taste itself will disappear if he ceases to check if it's there.


End file.
